the great church search: Week 1-St. Agnes

Back in September of 2008 Grace was initiated into the Catholic Church by the rite of holy baptism. On that day, Jeff and I promised--along with her Godparents--to raise Grace in the tradition of Catholicism.

I all but had my fingers crossed behind my back when I made this oath. Until today, we hadn't stepped foot in a Catholic Church since Grace's baptism 14 months ago.

I will just come out and say it--I do not like the Catholic Church. God? Believe in him. Jesus? Love him. But the institution of the church once drove me to the brink of aetheism. Thankfully, I have come to understand that the church is run by man (literally) and that man (literally, but woman too, I'll concede) is flawed. The church is not a reification of God. It is, on the other hand, the locus of humanity's best attempts at making sense of Him. So it is in this spirit that I have found peace with my decision to raise Grace in the holy tradition that my parents worked tirelessly to teach me to appreciate, depsite its flaws. There are a lot of things I wish were different about the Church--conversations instead of lectures, negotiations of meanings instead of authoritive decrees from the pulpit, gender equality on the altar, tolerance and acceptance of marginalized social groups--but Grace and I can talk about these things--critically--and, from within, work to change them. Being a critical thinker and working to change the world she inhabits instead of fleeing from it--these are values I want Grace to embody. So here we begin our great church search.

Tonight we hit St. Agnes in Avon, NY. When I walked in, it reminded me of the church of my early youth, Our Lady of Lebanon in Niagara Falls, NY. Vast and beige. The architecture left something to be desired. From where we were sitting I couldn't even see the altar, my vision osbtructed by a giant pillar. The music was slow and dirge-like. With Christmas next week I thought we'd at least get some familiar Christmas Church tunes, but nada. No one was singing except for the high-pitched opera star wannabe at the microphone up front. Not a lot of enthusiasm. The homily was decent--good message (a point that could have been made in about half the time Father spent talking), but I wouldn't say inspiring or evocative. Not like Fr. Damien at St. Mike's in Warsaw. I think Jeff and I were spoiled by his out-of-the-box homilies and the upbeat folk music. So ultimately, I was not impressed by St. Agnes. However, there was one thing that really stood out--the frindliness of the people in the congregation. We were greeted warmly by so many people and, even after Grace spent the entirity of the mass squirming and, at time, shrieking, people commented on how cute she was and that it was fun listening to her. One couple even confided that they themselves were trying to get pregnant! Part of what I'm looking for in finding a church is to feel like I'm part of a community. St. Agnes seems to have this potential.

It's not that I'm looking to have fun in chuch. I know that we don't go to church to be entertained. But I do want to feel fulfilled when I walk out the door. I want to feel like I've had a spiritual experience. Good music helps with this and so does an inspired priest who gives thoughtful and thought provoking homilies. I didn't really find that at St. Agnes. I will concede that my attention was focused elsewhere for much of the service (on Squirrly McSquirmingburg) but I can't help but think that maybe SHE needs a great church as much as I do in order to stay focused.

a year, a blink, a lifetime

My baby is one year old. And at her birthday party in our backyard that we had on August 1st one of the most popular comments guests made to me was, "I can't believe it's been a year already." For them, time flew. Several of our guests had not seen Grace in many months so it seemed that in a blink of an eye she went from scooting along the floor on her tummy to toddling unsteadily across the yard on two feet. In one sense, I concur. Time flew. It's amazing how fast she learns new things these days. Each day she has new words (the latest: "nanda" for banana, "naa-da" for lay down, "na-naa" for night-night) and new tricks like walking, dancing, doing "flips," and "bumping it."



However, in another sense, the day we brought Grace home from the hospital seems like eons ago. Maybe it's because we weren't getting much sleep those days and learning how to parent a newborn was often trying, exhausting, and difficult. One day blended into another and it seemed like it would never get any easier. But, of course, it did. And today, it's hard to imagine that there was any point in my life that I did not know Grace. How can it be that I have not known her forever? What was my life before Grace? I can't help but feel that it was nowhere near as substantive, as important, and as exciting as it is now. Maybe I feel like it's been forever because it has, that somehow my soul was always bound with Grace's and her birth simply made tangible her existense in my heart that had always been present as a quiet love. It sounds corny, but I cannot wrap my head around the idea that Grace ever did not exist. So this is how I make sense of it all.

Happy happy birthday to our little nut. Thank you for filling our lives with so much joy every day. Bump it.

anniversary

Rainbow sherbet hangs in the sky
A chardonnay fog hangs in my eyes
This
Is
Summer.

when i could dig to china

I don't remember who it was that told me if I dug a hole deep enough, I could get to China. But I do remember trying. My neighbor Matt and I, with our 4-inch metal shovels in my mom's would-be flower bed, once dug for an entire day--stopping only to eat, use the bathroom, and explain to passers-by that we, yes WE, were on our way to C-h-i-n-a China. They'd nod and smile, "Wooooww, you are?!" I think we knew they didn't really think we could do it, yet somehow, we knew we could. Once the hole was about ankle deep I peered inside intently, determined that if I looked hard enough I would spot Chinese children running around with chopsticks and little pointy hats to shade them from the hot eastern sun. "I see them! We're there; we're almost there, Matt!" We jumped up and down chanting, "We're going to China! We're gong to China!."

I remember this so well. And I also remember (please don't tell Matt this) that I didn't really see Chinese children. Being around 7 years old at the time, I was young, but I wasn't stupid. But I had faith. I believed, truly believed, that if we worked hard enough, dug long enough, eventually we would reach our goal. And you know what one of the funniest things is now that I think back? My mom didn't even try to stop me from digging up her yard. My guess is that I said, "Hey Mom, we're gonna dig to China, okay?" And she said, "That's nice, honey." She's never been one to stand in the way of my dreams. Especially not when she's on the phone.

Eventually, I got to China. It took 25 years and 24 hours in airports in airplanes, but I got there. Eventually I realized the shovel wasn't going to hack it.

So I got to thinking today: When did I stop believing that I could dig to China? Maybe it was learning in school that the earth has a molten lava core that would incinerate me before I even got close to it? That there would be layers of impenetrable rock that I'd have to somehow dig through before I could get close to being incinerated? That digging to China is possible only in theory and that no one has ever, nor will ever actually achieve such a feat? Yes, I guess school taught me that, and so that's probably when the dream died. But Matt and I could have dug until our hands fell off and I don't believe that we ever would have stopped believing. It took someone to tell us we couldn't. Then we stopped. We stopped digging. We stopped believing. (Then my mom got off the phone and screamed, "What happened to my yard!?")

We don't question our abilities, the possibilities of our own endurance and courage, all on our own. We're taught to do that. The "You can'ts" and "It's impossibles" from well-meaning adults and from our own failed attempts toward small successes penetrate our schemas, become embedded in the fabric of who we are and who we (might) become.

I, for one, need to get that dig-to-china spirit back.

phew, that was a close one

Yesterday was Memorial Day. It was a perfect day in every sense. Not a cloud in the sky, warm--but not too warm, on the river with my family who seldom co-exists in harmony but yesterday got along well, laughing over food, drinks, and boat rides. To make it more perfect, it was an entire day spent with Jeff and Grace without any responsibilities or hassels. Grace took her first boat ride which she would have emjoyed more had she not been so tired; she actually fell asleep toward the end. Uncle Italo went really fast, bouncing us around a bit on others' wakes (he insisted he didn't do it on purpose, but I know him too well to believe that!). She played with Natalie and Genna in the grass, ate way too many Gerber Graduate Puffs, and loved watching the flags on the marina flap in the light breeze.

I wrote when I began blogging that being pregnant was an opportunity for me to look forward and reflect back on my life at the same time. Yesterday presented me with another interesting opportunity to do that. In fact, I would even say that this perfect day was really contextualized in my past--a past that, had I not lived it in the precise way that I did, I could not be as content and as blessed as I feel that I am now with the life I have today. (Okay, just a warning. I'm about to venture back into my pre-Jeff life).

You see, our picnic was at Sandy Beach Yacht Club where Italo is a member. For several years before I met Jeff, I dated M., whose family also belongs there. While dating M. I spent many summer days at that club. So I was not completely surprised when we arrived yesterday to see M. and his family also enjoying the beautiful spring day on the river. Everyone was pleasant (with the exception of M. and his sister J. who have a penchant for being UNpleasant), "hellos" and "how are yous" were exchanged, with many remarks on how beautiful our little Gracie is. This run-in, thankfully, did little to hamper our day or dampen my spirits. Instead, it made me realize what my life could have been in the context of what it is now. The issues that led to the ending of my relationship with M.(which I won't recount here) were very much present yesterday, and I could see that even from far across the large patio and empty tables that separated us. I couldn't help think--if even for a fleeting moment--about what my life could have been had I not ended that relationship when I did. Would I have been sitting at that table, with those people on this very day? I felt as though I'd narrowly escaped a wreck. Like when you're driving and accidently cut someone off on the thruway. They get mad and give you the finger, but all you can do is thank God that He protected you from a life-altering collision.

As I watched Jeff holding Grace as she whined in the warm sun I couldn't help but to thank God. I thanked God for M.'s "issues" that had a hand in moving me to Warsaw, for the complexities of that relatioship that allowed me to see the good, the kind, and the wonderful in Jeff, and for every life experience--bad and good--that put me right where I am now.

There are many lessons to be learned in this crazy life. Some lessons are learned years and years after a life-changing event--we can only see pain at the time, but when we look back we see that it was all a giant blessing in disguise. Our biggest hearbreaks can turn out to be life's greatest blessings. In my early 20s, the most hurt I had ever been was in the let-down of learning who M. really was. Pushing 30 now, I can see that there has been no blessing in my life greater than my husband and my daughter. And without the heartbreaks that got me here, I could never have achieved so much happiness.

my first gracie heartbreak

One of Gracie's favorite books is about a little bunny who is playing hide and seek with his mommy but has trouble finding an appropriate hiding place. It's kind of a stupid book because the bunny never really finds a hiding place, but his mommy says at the end, "Little bunny, aren't you smart? Finding you is my favorite part!" Anyway. I always interject the phrase, "But thank you anyway" when bunny tells one of his friends why he is unable to hide with them. I do this because I really want Grace to learn to be polite and have manners. It's something that is so easy to forget as we rush through the daily craziness of life. I never really gave much thought, however, to the fact that other people may not always show her politeness in kind.

The other day at the library there was a cute little girl, around 2 or 3 years old, playing quietly with a stuffed frog. Gracie eyed up that frog and made her approach. But as she crawled closer and closer to the frog, the little girl pulled the frog further and further away from Grace. I think Grace thought it was a game. She'd sit for a moment just looking at the girl, a little confused, and then make her move again, only to have the frog pulled away. I sat watching from the other side of the colorful rug. And my heart broke. I don't think Grace knew that the girl didn't want her anywhere near her frog, but I knew. And seeing that Grace didn't get mad, that she persisted and, maybe, wondered why she couldn't get that frog made me want to yell across the rug at the little girl's mommy, "Hey! Make youre kid share, would you!?"

Ultimately, Grace ended up with the frog, but that really isn't the point of my story. Nor is my point to say the little girl was naughty. She wasn't. She was just being 2 or 3 years old, probably accustomed to having to fight for her stuff since she had a big brother only slightly older than herself. My point is that I never realized how much it would hurt to see my baby having to fend for herself in a world that is not always kind. I've written in this blog several times about how my greatest wishes for Gracie are that she treats people with kindness, that she's thoughtful and caring when it comes to the feelings and needs of others. But what about how she deals with the cruelty that will inevitably befall her in life?

I realize cruelty is a strong word when talking about kids not sharing their toys, but isn't this how it all starts? The gateway drug into bullyiing and gossip--true evils that any school aged kid will be subject to at one time or another. It's funny. I would never wish to go back to the times in my life when I felt victimized by a bully, mean words, kids unwilling to share--and God knows there were many. But I'd live those moments over every day if it meant that Gracie would never have to.

miss personality

Well, today was Grace's first school-like experience. We went to the library for Books and Babies, where babies sat on their moms' laps and sang songs, played clapping games, and listened to the librarian read a fun book. That is, most of the babies sat on their moms' laps...but not Gracie. Instead, Grace crawled around on the colorful rug, examining the bright letters and shapes in it, approaching other babies and waving at them, and then getting into her downward dog yoga pose to check out the view of the other moms from between her legs. I was at a bit of a loss. Do I go after her, rein her in? Or do I let Gracie be Gracie? I chose the latter. My baby is definitely an explorer! I'm so glad that she loves to engage with the world--to touch it, taste it, and knock it right over--rather than to sit as an obedient bystander.